


Comfort Food for Beginners, Part 6:  The Cookie Monster (Dean/Castiel)

by squeemonster



Series: Comfort Food [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-20
Updated: 2011-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-18 11:30:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/560572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squeemonster/pseuds/squeemonster





	Comfort Food for Beginners, Part 6:  The Cookie Monster (Dean/Castiel)

**Title** :  Comfort Food for Beginners, Part 6:  The Cookie Monster  
 **Rating** :  NC-17  
 **Pairing** :  Dean/Castiel  
 **Word Coun** t:  7417  
 **Notes** :  Part 6 of my Comfort Food series. This series is not in chronological order, it's just different scenes from the lives of those in Team Free Will, focusing on the relationship between Dean and Cas. Set after the events of season six, Castiel is now fully human and hunting with the Winchesters. Many thanks to [](http://zatnikatel.livejournal.com/profile)[ **zatnikatel**](http://zatnikatel.livejournal.com/) who whipped my writing into readable shape and makes me laugh and helps with the ~sexy stuff.  
 **Summary** :  In which Castiel discovers a new hobby, a dog gets his bone, and Sam is finally not suffering alone.

 

**Extra Special Note** :  This chapter came about, as many of these chapters do, because of the hilarious and naughty brains of my friends on Twitter, especially that of [](http://zatnikatel.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://zatnikatel.livejournal.com/) **zatnikatel**  . For good or for bad, this chapter exists because of you guys. ;D

 

Castiel remembers a discussion he had with Dean one time about falling, during which Dean had given him a slitty-eyed look, nodded slightly and licked his lips before saying, "You can do more _human-y_ stuff now."

It was before they had become physically intimate, and now that they are, Castiel knows that was Dean's how _you_ doin'? look. But at the time, he had taken the statement at face value and considered all the more human _stuff_ that might actually be do-able.

Baking was not one of them.

The act itself had never crossed his mind until some rainy, damp night a couple of months back when Dean announced he’d had enough of going out and “getting _soaked_ just for stupid _recon_ for some stupid _ghost_ , he was staying in and ordering _pizza_ and watching the boob tube, like every red-blooded American male is supposed to do on a night like this, _dammit_.” 

Castiel and Sam had exchanged looks, rolling their eyes in unison but refraining to call Dean out on his tantrum. Some nights, it’s just easier to keep your mouth shut and let Dean have his way. Besides, truth be known, Castiel wasn’t eager to venture out in the storm either, and the ghost of a smile that flitted across Sam’s face exposed his relief for the respite as well.

The three of them had lazed about, stuffing themselves with pizza and lukewarm beer, enjoying the rare quiet night inside. After an hour or so of struggling to keep his eyes open, Sam had excused himself and made his way to his own room next door. Dean hadn’t moved a muscle as he bid Sam goodnight, the full belly, two beers, and warmth from the wall heater making him look drowsy and content.

Castiel had huffed as he spared a glance at Dean sprawled next to him on their bed, and reached over him to grab the remote. It's a sign of just how tired Dean was that he didn’t fight for control of it, but as Castiel was flipping through the channels looking for something to watch that was less car chase and more Discovery channel, Dean had suddenly flapped a frantic hand and hollered at him to _back, back, back up_.

Castiel had obliged and was surprised to find himself viewing a commercial. He had glanced back to Dean to see his friend's face wistful and half-smiling, his eyes bright with a sort of sadness Castiel wasn't used to seeing, as he watched the woman in the commercial pull a sheet of cookies out of an oven.

“Dean, what is it?” Castiel inquired.

Dean startled slightly, as he if he'd been caught out, and shrugged self-consciously. “It’s the first holiday commercial I’ve seen for the season," he muttered. "It’s not even Halloween yet. I swear, one of these years they’re gonna start showing them after the fourth of July.”

Castiel had looked back at the rickety television set as the commercial ended, the telecast returning to one of those “Lifetime” movies that Dean is secretly fond of. “Why is that so significant to you?” he asked.

And Dean had sighed, tiredly rubbing a hand across his eyes. “It’s not. I just like some of the commercials, is all. They remind me of when my mom used to bake cookies for me. No one else ever did that for me.” He rolled over and off the bed after that, making his way into the bathroom, and thus letting Castiel know it was the end of the story.  


  
Castiel had remained silent and watched him go, allowing the conversation to end but not forgetting what was said.

*******************************

 

To say that Castiel’s first attempt at baking is a failure would be like saying fish are decent swimmers, or that Zachariah was mildly unpleasant.

He's still relatively new to this whole mortal coil business and that has many ramifications, not least of which is the fact he sometimes still has difficulty understanding the nuances of what seems to come so easily for _proper_ humans. The human sense of taste is one of those things.

As an angel, Castiel rarely had the opportunity or the inclination to consume anything. Food wasn’t necessary to sustain his vessel, and he never really understood humans’ fascination with something so… _basic_. Or rather, he never understood it until he was exposed to the effects of Famine. To this day, his mouth begins to water and his stomach growls whenever the scents of red meat sizzling overcome him.

That’s not to say Castiel doesn’t appreciate food now that he’s human – he does enjoy it at times. But he doesn't eat with as much gusto and passion as most people do, Dean especially. And he’s never given much thought to what makes some items taste better with others, or why certain things aren’t cooked or served together.

Which is why Castiel thought a meat cookie was a wonderful idea.

It wasn’t. In fact, as it turns out, it wasn't even good enough to be categorized as a bad idea.

Unfortunately for everyone involved, Castiel didn’t ask Sam or Dean what their thoughts were on meat cookies before his first and only attempt at baking them. If he had, as Dean so frequently points out, they would have told him it was a horrible idea. But that’s the thing about surprises, they’re kind of ruined if you inform people of them ahead of time.

One of the more humiliating aspects of "cookiegate," as Dean calls it, was how Dean felt it necessary afterwards to sit him down and give him a presentation of what tastes good together and what doesn’t. It was a very long, tiresome afternoon of Dean making diagrams, and lists, and charts, and tables filled with the “Pros” and “Cons” of putting one type of food together with another. It ended with Dean insisting on Castiel getting his approval before attempting to bake or cook anything else from then on.

“Dean, until recently I was an angel of the Lord, and had been for endless millennia," Castiel declared indignantly. "I have more knowledge within my grasp than you could ever possibly conceive of, even if you lived a thousand lives. I do not need to seek your approval when it comes to cooking.”

Dean snorted theatrically. “Yeah, well, your tastebuds are for shit, then. If you’re gonna be fixin’ crap like that, don’t expect me to eat it. And you sure as hell better not expect me to foot the bill for the ingredients.”

That was one of their worst fights, to date. Castiel had stood up, knocking his chair back onto the floor, and attempted to loom in a threatening fashion before storming out of the motel room, slamming the door behind him. That was also the longest period of time Dean and Castiel had slept apart since they’d become sexually involved. Their first night reunited, Dean had whispered, between swipes of his tongue against the small of Castiel’s back, that he’d hated every second Cas wasn’t in his bed. He made Castiel promise that he’d never be absent from it again, before spreading him open and licking his way into his core.

 

*******************************

 

Castiel's second attempt at baking wasn't quite the _epic fail_ the first was, but it still wasn’t as successful as he’d hoped it’d be.

Castiel was inspired as he watched Dean lick the peanut butter from a Reese’s Cup one afternoon. He was sure that Dean would enjoy a peanut butter chocolate chip cookie just as much, if not more than, the candy that he so obviously loves, if for no other reason than it was homemade, baked especially for him.

The biggest obstacle Castiel had was finding a spare moment to obtain a recipe. Every time he sat down in front of Sam’s laptop to search for one, he’d be interrupted by one or the other of the brothers. The one spare moment he had at a local library to search for a recipe was rudely snatched from him when he discovered a group of middle schoolers had commandeered the media room. _Suffer little children_ , he had thought spitefully.

He remembered the basic ingredients of a recipe for chocolate chip cookies that he’d glimpsed a few weeks back, although the exact measurements eluded him. Given that his only chance for baking was during the stop they’d soon be making at Bobby’s for a couple of nights, he knew he’d have to do his best to recall the recipe and make up the rest, including the amount of peanut butter to use, as he went along.

As Sam helped him realize afterwards, that was his biggest mistake. The consistency of the cookies was wrong, and instead of being sweet they were quite bitter and pasty. He threw the cookie sheet onto the counter after seeing what a mess they’d become, thankful that Dean and Bobby were outside tinkering on a car and unaware of this second failed attempt at baking.

“Cookies no good?”  

Castiel had jumped at the voice, turning around to find Sam standing in the doorway between the kitchen and the den. He felt his face pull into a scowl as he threw the oven mitt onto the table next to him. “I don’t understand why I can’t seem to do this," he complained. "Cooking is a simple task that millions of humans do every day. Dean cooks delicious meals so effortlessly, almost as if he’s making them up as he goes. Why is it so different for me?”

Sam smiled, told Castiel, “I think you might be going at this the wrong way,” and sat down at the beat-up kitchen table, pulling the chair next to him out as invitation for Castiel to take a seat with him. “What you’re talking about that Dean does... that’s _cooking_ , not baking.”

Castiel sighed. “Sam, I realize the difference between cooking and baking, but the end result is the same, so it can’t be all _that_ different.”

Sam raised a cautionary finger. “No, see, that’s where you’re wrong. Cooking is combining stuff that will taste better when they’re together. You can play around with it to suit your own tastes, and add things that others might not like, leave out things you don’t like, and do all sorts of playing with it. To a certain extent you don’t even have to have exact measurements.”  He paused then, watching to make sure Castiel was paying attention. “But baking... that’s like chemistry, man. You have to look at the recipes like a formula. If you leave out an ingredient or change the measurement even a little bit it could have disastrous results. Look at sigils – what would happen if you left out one tiny little symbol in one of your sigils, or if the slant of one was off a bit?”

Castiel could feel this dawning of understanding hit him so powerfully he wouldn’t have been surprised if a lightbulb had switched on over his head, as Dean was so fond of saying. “It would change the incantation completely," he murmured. "The end result would be nothing like what was desired.”

“Exactly!” Sam grinned. “Now do you get why this hasn’t been working for you? I guarantee you, if you treat this like one of your angel incantation things, you’ll end up being so good at baking Dean will never want you leaving the kitchen.”

A sheepish smile crossed Castiel’s face at that. “That’s not exactly the end result I’d wish for, but it’s close enough.”

He had stared at Sam for several thoughtful seconds then, until he noticed the attention was causing discomfort. “Thank you, Sam,” he stated, before taking a deep, measured breath and continuing, “There was a time not so long ago when I feared we might never be as comfortable with each other as we are today. I will forever be grateful that you were willing to give our friendship another chance.”

He had put his hand on Sam’s shoulder and squeezed as he stood up from the table, and just as he was turning away, he felt Sam’s hand grip his own. “I’m just glad you’re here for Dean," Sam told him. "And, uh... that I’ve got my friend back, too.”

Castiel had looked down at him warmly, but he didn't trust his voice to speak. Instead, he squeezed Sam’s shoulder, smiled, and vowed silently to himself that he would never let either Winchester down again.

 

 

 

*******************************

 

After his Sam-inspired epiphany, baking became much easier for Castiel. Every time they found a motel with kitchenettes in the rooms he made his way to the nearest supermarket to procure ingredients. The next batch baked after the failure of the peanut butter chocolate chip cookies were, to Sam’s delight and Dean’s dismay, oatmeal raisin cookies.

“Dude, _why_? You might as well have baked salad cookies or kale cookies or something.” Dean caught the calculating look on Castiel’s face and quickly added, “And don’t even think about it, those kinds of cookies don’t exist and besides, it’s gross.”

Castiel carefully slotted the cookies off the cooling rack and placed them on a plate. “Because, Dean, Sam is the one who helped me finally understand the process of baking. I wanted to repay him for sharing his insights with me.”

Sam smirked at Dean as he yanked a cookie off the plate and bit into it.

“Besides," Castiel added, "I already gift you with my body and orgasms every night, so I felt it was time to gift Sam with something, too.”

Sam had choked energetically on his cookie, causing Dean to smirk and waggle his eyebrows. “Heh, hate to break it to ya, Sammy, but I think I got the better end of this stick, if you know what I mean.”

Sam had coughed even more diligently than he choked, reaching for a glass of water. 

Castiel frowned. “Is there something wrong with the cookie?”

Sam took a couple gulps of water before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his face red. “No, Cas," he insisted. "You just kinda took me by surprise with uh... the uh... body... comment.” He cleared his throat, arranged his features into a smile. “No, actually, that cookie is good. I mean, _really_ good. I think you’re getting the hang of this.” He smiled even wider as he grabbed another cookie off the plate. 

And even though Dean protested the baking of a cookie that could almost be construed as “healthy,” Castiel had smiled to himself as he caught Dean later that night, sneaking a cookie when he thought Castiel was fast asleep.

*******************************

 

Castiel uses the next several weeks in which they can't find a motel with makeshift kitchens to study the art of baking. He dives into his studies with the relish and gusto once reserved for sigils and incantations. Viewing it as chemistry, as formulas and puzzles with certain pieces that must always be used as the backbone of cookies, everything begins to make sense.

He learns of the core ingredients of flour, baking soda or powder – and the differences between the two – and salt. He becomes fascinated by the butter versus margarine debate, natural versus artificial sweeteners, and pre-made versus homemade icings. His education complete, he decides to start with the more natural and more fattening ingredients, and, if all goes well, to slowly switch to lower-fat and lower-calorie ingredients on the sly. He's well aware of Dean's love of all foods that will send him to an early grave, and given Dean's propensity for dying frequently, Castiel decides he will do everything in his power to keep it from happening. He is convinced he can feed Dean healthy foods without him being aware of it, if he becomes skilled enough.

A week before Christmas, Dean calls Bobby to see if they can camp at his place for the holidays. It's the first time in years that no Big Bad has been looming around every street corner at this time of year, and the brothers both agree they're in the mood to settle down somewhere familiar, the place as close to a home as they have, to quietly reflect on all that's happened over the past year. Or, as Dean puts it, to "get shit-faced on egg nog and eat so much we puke."

Castiel has never been able to understand why phrasing things so unpleasantly should make them appealing, but it's one of the many little mysteries about Dean he's eager to unravel slowly and methodically.

He convinces Dean to stop at a large store Dean refers to as "WallyWorld" before reaching Bobby's, so that he can acquire baking supplies to have at hand as soon as they arrive. The cajolery usually needed for such an errand when Dean is this exhausted isn't necessary once Castiel reminds him that the end result will be an abundance of cookies. Castiel has a shopping list as long as his arm, and he finds he is filled with a surprising level of excitement and anxiety. Excitement to finally start on this endeavor with his newfound knowledge, and anxiety that all of his hard work and study may yet end up fruitless.

As soon as they arrive at Bobby's house, he puts away his groceries and baking supplies, taking note of any items he may have missed or overlooked during his shopping excursion. He's momentarily disappointed to find that he omitted to purchase festive cookie cutters, but Dean assures him, with a roll of his eyes, that he'll go back to the store the following day.

Just as he’s almost finished getting things settled, Castiel senses a presence behind him, and turns to find Bobby making his way to the refrigerator.

"So, you still got this baking bug stuck up your butt?" Bobby growls, as he grabs a couple of beers out of the fridge, and hands one to Castiel.

"I... yes, if you mean do I still have a desire to bake, then yes. I do." Castiel side-eyes Bobby as he leans to throw the bottle cap into the garbage can. "I hope you don't mind me making use of your kitchen. I’ll be sure to clean up after myself, of course, and I’ll do my best to stay out of your way."

Bobby scoffs, "Shit, son, just as long as you don't burn the house down or poison us, I don't mind."

He takes a swig of his beer, wipes his mouth on his sleeve. "It's been a long time since this house had the smells of baking in it, or hell, since it's had people in it that remember what it feels like to be happy," he comments. "You feel like baking, you go ahead and bake."

Castiel thinks about Bobby’s words. It has taken him so very long to get to this point, to feel as if he has finally been accepted into this strange little family by every member, finally forgiven for all of his sins and miscalculations. What Bobby has said is more than just permission to use his kitchen. Castiel knows this, and knows that it's probably the most the other man will ever say on the subject.

"Thank you, Bobby," he answers quietly.

Bobby is uncomfortable at that. "Yeah, yeah," he blusters, "like I said, just don't burn the house down. And don't let Dean eat so much that we have to roll him outta the house."

Castiel watches as Bobby exits the kitchen, and turns his back to finish putting his supplies away, smiling as he hears Bobby yell at Dean to get his "damn dirty feet off the coffee table, ya idgit."

 

 

 

*******************************

 

The following morning, Castiel wakes before first light to get an early start on his baking. His first batch is simple sugar cookies, which turn out splendidly. He lets them cool on a baking rack while preparing his next selection: butter cookies. He turns from washing his mixing bowl in the sink to see Dean standing in the doorway, t-shirt and sweat pants rumpled, hair sticking out in every direction, and eyes half-closed with sleep. He scratches his stomach and squints at Castiel.

"Dude, you realize it's not even 6am yet?"

Castiel continues to rinse the dishes. "Yes, Dean, I realize what time it is. I wanted to get an early start." He pauses in rinsing long enough to glance over his shoulder. "You should go back to bed. Why are you even up?"

Dean stifles a yawn and shrugs. "I woke up and you weren't there." They stare at each other across the span of the kitchen, silently acknowledging that which is such a huge fear for the both of them.

Castiel smiles at Dean then. "I’m sorry I forgot to tell you my plan to get up early."

Dean unsuccessfully tries to stifle his yawn a second time. He rubs his eyes sleepily as he says, "S'okay, man. I was just a little freaked. No biggie."

"You really should go back to sleep. You don't get many opportunities to sleep late." Castiel reaches for a dishcloth and begins to dry the dishes and utensils, so that he can reuse them.

Dean grunts. "Yeah, I will. Don't let me sleep too late, though. I was gonna help Bobby with that new clunker he's got out there."

Dean turns and makes his way back up the stairs, and Castiel stares fondly after him before turning around and starting in on another batch.

 

 

*******************************

 

 

Two hours later, Castiel is elbow-deep in cookie dough. This current batch has been particularly difficult, but he's determined to make it work. He figures apple cinnamon cookies will be the next best thing to an apple pie for Dean, but preparing them has been a harrowing experience, since Bobby's hand-mixer is practically Stone Age, and Castiel realized too late that he probably would have been better off just mixing everything by hand. At one point, the blades became unattached from the mixer, spewing flour and powder and walnuts and apples everywhere.  As a result, the kitchen is a complete mess, with bits of dough on the cabinets, fridge, table, and floor, not to mention all over Castiel's clothes, and in his hair.

Bobby and Sam have already made their way through the kitchen, quickly making a pot of coffee and heating up some frozen breakfast burritos before scampering out of the kitchen and out of Castiel's way. Castiel ignored them as they gingerly stepped around him, completely wrapped up in his world of cookies, and dough, and measurements. Bobby wisely chose not to complain about the mess.

He finishes dropping spoonfuls of dough on the cookie sheet and adds this latest batch to the oven. Staring out the window, he wipes at his forehead with the side of his arm, smearing yet more flour across his face. And then suddenly, he feels arms wrap around his waist and a warm body press against his back.

"Good morning, Betty Crocker," Dean whispers into his ear.

Dean smells of shampoo, and soap, and spicy aftershave, clean and fresh and utterly intoxicating. Under normal circumstances, Castiel would be helpless to do anything other than lean back and soak in this body wrapping around him and engulfing him with love.

But these are not normal circumstances. Castiel is covered in flour, and if he touches Dean he'll cover him in this sticky mess, not to mention that if he touches Dean the cookies currently baking in the oven will inevitably die a blackened, crispy death because he'll be oblivious to the world and powerless to stop.  


  
And that is something Castiel won’t let happen.

"Dean, please stop," he protests. "I have too much to do, and I'm covered in dough and flour." He holds his arms out and away from his body to attempt to keep from getting Dean dirty, as well as to let Dean know he means business. But Dean either doesn't get the hint or chooses to ignore it, pulling Castiel even closer and nuzzling his neck.

"You realize what we didn't do last night?" Dean murmurs, as he licks his way up Castiel's neck to his earlobe, taking the tender skin between his teeth and biting before gently sucking. "And do you realize we didn't do that thing the two nights before, either?" He uses his body to push Castiel against the counter and slowly grinds his erection against Castiel's ass.

"You were asleep last night by the time I came up to bed." Castiel closes his eyes and bites his lip, working up the will power to push Dean away while at the same time subconsciously tilting his head _just so_ , giving Dean better access to the line of his throat and the juncture of neck and shoulder. "And the two nights before... " He shudders as Dean bites and sucks at a particularly sensitive spot. "...The two nights before we had to share a very small room with your brother, making it a less than optimal opportunity to engage in sex."

Dean ruts slowly against Castiel and kisses his nape on his way to biting and sucking on his other ear. "Your point?"

Castiel huffs out a shaky breath. "My point is, it's not my fault we haven't had a chance to be intimate. And so I shouldn't be punished for it."

He feels a rumble in the chest pressed against his back as Dean chuckles. "If you consider this punishment, I'm real curious to see what you consider a reward."

Wicked hands move down and under the waistband of Castiel’s jeans, but he turns around to face Dean before they reach their destination. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m a little busy here, Dean,” he says.But that said, and against his better judgment, he still leans forward to capture Dean’s lips with his own. It’s so very easy to get lost in Dean – the taste of his tongue, the slickness of his teeth, the callouses of his hands tracing paths along the skin at the small of Castiel's back, the tiny sighs he releases each time he’s pulled closer – so easy, in fact, that Castiel knows not even the harshest critic could fault him for stealing just a few minutes of pleasure.

Yet that same critic could and probably would fault him for letting the cookies burn just because he’s too preoccupied with the man pressed against him and not with the buzzer that’s been beeping for what is probably several minutes.

“Cas... Cas, is that beeping noise important?”

Castiel stops kissing Dean’s neck and pulls back to look him in the face. “What?”

Dean laughs. “Dude, earth to Cas, something’s beeping.”

Castiel’s eyes widen. “The _cookies_!” he yelps, as he pushes Dean away and leaps to the oven, yanking the door open. He coughs as smoke billows out, and grabs a mitt to pull the cookie sheet from the oven. He spares a glance at the ruined cookies before dropping the pan on the stove. “ _This_ is why I wanted to be left alone," he seethes. "I can’t afford any distractions.”

Dean comes to stand beside him, sniffs. “Why are you being so hardcore about all this shit? It’s just cookies, Cas.”

Castiel twists his head, lowers his eyelashes and levels the look he used when he helped sanitize Sodom and Gomorrah straight at Dean. 

Dean takes a few steps back, his hands in the air as he surrenders. “Okay, okay, fine, I’ll get out of your hair for now.”

Castiel draws himself up to his full six feet. “Can you please just go get those cookie cutters for me? I’d like to do that batch next, after I try to recreate this ruined one.” 

Dean sighs, grabs his keys off the small table by the door, and leaves.

 

 

 

*******************************

 

Forty-five minutes later, Dean has returned, triumphant in the way only a hunter returning to camp with a significant kill can be. He throws his shopping bag on the table in front of Castiel.

“Do I deliver or what?”

His face splits in a proud smile as Castiel opens the bag and pulls out the box of cookie cutters. 

“Dean, what is this?” he splutters.

The look of confusion on Dean’s face would be endearing at any other time, but Castiel is so frazzled at this moment that he only finds it painfully irritating.

“What the hell do you mean, ‘what is this’?" Dean barks. "It’s cookie cutters. That’s what you wanted, right?”

“Dean, this is in the shape of a ghost. These are Halloween shapes! You were supposed to get Christmas designs!” Castiel tries to control the volume of his voice, but the look of exasperation Dean is wearing only serves to make him more angry.

“Hey, you didn’t say you specifically wanted Christmas shapes!" Dean defends. "Those were on sale. Besides, you can pretend that ghost is like one of those ghosts from that Scrooged movie, or a snowman or something.”

They stare each other down for several moments, and Castiel can feel his jaw flinch as he grinds his teeth, determined to not give in. With a roll of his eyes, Dean finally relents.

“Fine! I’ll go back.” He yanks the box out of Castiel’s hand and storms out of the house.

 

 

 

*******************************

 

Castiel hears the rumble of the Impala an hour later, signaling Dean’s return. He begins preparing the dough in anticipation of the cookie cutters, and keeps an ear to the door to listen for Dean’s entrance. After fifteen minutes, he’s finished with the dough and Dean still hasn’t made it into the house. He _tsks_ impatiently, goes to look out the door, but there’s no sign of Dean in the Impala or the front yard.

He decides to begin opening the packages of decorations for the cookies while he’s waiting. There are red, green, blue and black sugar crystals, along with tiny silver candy balls. Castiel plans to ice the cookies with the icing he’d made earlier and then decorate them with the crystals and balls. He’s hoping Dean was able to find Christmas tree and snowman designs, at the very least.

He glances at the clock and realizes it’s been a half-hour at least since he heard Dean return from his second trip to the store. He’s about to storm out of the kitchen in search of him when he hears the screen door swing open. He turns to watch as Dean strolls into the room, and he can feel what Dean calls his “bitch face” starting to spread across his features as he realizes the reason Dean took his time to come into the house was because he’d snuck into Bobby’s garage to drink with the others.

“Hey, Cas, so what do I get for bringing you not one, not two, but five different actual fucking Christmas cookie cutters?" Dean crows. "I know what _I_ think it deserves as a prize, but what do _you_ think it’s worth?” He throws the bag on the counter and grabs Castiel by the belt loops of his jeans, and the scents of whiskey and motor oil envelop him as Dean pulls him closer.

Castiel places his hands against Dean’s chest and starts to push him away. “Dean, how many times do I need to tell you that I’m too busy to see to your sexual urges today?”

Dean scowls. “Oh Cas, come on! How the hell is it going to ruin all your baking if you take just half an hour to go up to our room and have a little fun? I mean seriously, you really need to take that giant stick out of your ass and learn how to fuckin’ loosen up.”

Castiel narrows his eyes as Dean smirks at him, and he lowers his hands when Dean leans in to kiss along his jaw. He realizes right then that this is one of those things Dean simply will not let go of until he gets what he wants, much like a dog with a bone.

But Castiel refuses to leave the kitchen, so concessions will need to be made. He grabs Dean by the shoulders and pushes him back enough so that he can lean in and bite his way into Dean’s mouth. He hears Dean chuckle and whisper, “Now we’re talking,” before he slides his hands up and clamps his fingers to Dean's cheeks, angling Dean's face so he can lick deeper into his mouth, sucking on his tongue and causing Dean to twitch and rut his dick against Castiel’s groin in response.

Dean pulls back, leers, “Come on, let’s go upstairs.” He circles Castiel’s wrist with his fingers and begins to pull him towards the steps, but Castiel doesn’t budge.

Dean looks back at him, an expression of sudden confusion on his face, and Castiel uses that moment of weakness to sweep the utensils off the counter behind him and yank Dean around, twisting his body so that he's pressed against the counter, his back flush against Castiel’s chest and his arms held captive behind him.

“Cas, what the fuck are you doing?” Dean strains to look over his shoulder, and hisses when Castiel pulls his arms tighter.

“I told you, I’m not leaving this kitchen, Dean," Castiel growls. "But if the dog has to have a bone, then the dog will get a bone.”

Dean's look is all comical shock. “What the hell... Cas, you’re not making any sense right now... what ‘bone’ are you even _talking_ about?! Wait, are you talking about a bon _er_? How did you even—”

“Unbuckle your belt.” Castiel releases Dean’s arms but remains flush against his back.

Dean looks over his shoulder at Castiel again, his eyebrows arched so high they’re almost reaching his hairline. “Um, what? Cas, we can’t do this right here, it’s broad day—”

Castiel presses his body tight against Dean and leans up slightly to snarl in his ear, “I said. Unbuckle. Your. _Belt_.”

A whimper works its way up Dean’s throat and past his lips between fast, short puffs of air. “Dude. _Fuck_. What if Sam or Bobby comes in? I don’t—”

“Dean, do you want me to fuck you or not?”

Dean is silent for a moment, as if he’s having an internal debate on the matter. He sighs and reaches down to unbuckle his belt, so slow and hesitant that Castiel reaches a deft hand around to help him along. Once the belt is unbuckled, Castiel whips it out of the belt loops and throws it on the floor before reaching around, quickly unbuttoning and unzipping Dean’s jeans.

He yanks Dean’s jeans and boxers down to his ankles in one swift movement, eliciting a yelp from the man. “Dude, how 'bout some warning before you make me bare-assed here?!”

Castiel unzips his own jeans and pulls out his half-hard dick, stroking it in time with Dean’s rapid breaths. “I would think my telling you to remove your belt would be warning enough.”

He glances around at the baking supplies and ingredients on the counter before finding what he's looking for. He slams it down on the countertop, opens a drawer next to Dean’s hip, pulls out a dull knife, and uses it to slice off a square of butter. Dean watches as he does so, and his eyes widen as he realizes what Castiel is about to do.

“Butter? You’re gonna use _butter_ for lube?!”

Castiel clucks as he rubs the butter over his hardening dick. “Would you rather I used icing? Those are our two options, Dean.” He uses his other hand to press between Dean’s shoulder blades. “Bend over.”

Dean lets loose a whine, but does as he’s told. Castiel grasps his hips and yanks his body a bit further out to give himself a better angle, then presses the head of his dick to Dean’s entrance.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa... are you not even gonna finger fuck me first?” Dean peeks his head around from where he had his head lowered on his forearm.

Castiel grits his teeth and shoots Dean a steely look. “Between the risk of getting caught and my needing to get back to my baking, I don’t believe we have the luxury of foreplay time.”

Dean's eyes go huge. “That’s not _foreplay_ , Cas, that’s helping a dude out, and _JesusfuckingChrist_ —”

Castiel has used the distraction of Dean’s ire to slide himself in fast, pushing until he’s completely sheathed. He stays still long enough for Dean to moan once and take two short, deep breaths, before pulling out almost completely.  

“I suggest you brace yourself, Dean,” he announces.

“We really need to work on your dirty talk— _nnnggffhh_!”

Castiel's fingers wrap around Dean’s hipbones as he thrusts deep inside. He can’t help but allow a moan to escape his lips as he marvels at the heat and impossible tightness enclosing him, and he’s grateful they need to make this fast because as tense as he hs been lately, as well as the many nights they’ve been without each other, he knows he won’t last long. He begins to pump himself into Dean’s ass fast, hard, and as deep as he can go, pulling grunts and curses from Dean each time he circles and snaps his hips to go deeper.

He scrabbles a hand at the hem of Dean's shirt, pushes the fabric up to get at _skin_ , leans down to lick the sweat that's starting to form along the bumps of Dean’s spine, then splays his hands on the counter at either side of Dean. Their bodies are slick against each other, and the stickiness from the butter and sweat makes the sugar crystals and silver candy balls scattered on the surface cling to Castiel's fingers and palms, making his traction less than optimal for the situation.  He rips Dean's shirt down and away from his neck, bites and sucks at the muscle along Dean’s shoulder as he continues to thrust.

Dean is ramming himself back now, babbling, “Cas, _fuuuuck_... I need, I need you to jerk me off, fuck I need you to touch me, or stop long enough.... _nngghh_... Jesus fuck, stop long enough so I can move my hand down and jerk myself off, I’m gonna fuckin’ explode here, Cas, _please_...”

Castiel straightens and wraps his hands around the jut of Dean’s hips again, looking down to watch, mesmerized, as his cock slides in and out of Dean’s hole. “Not yet,” he murmurs. He massages the small of Dean’s back with his fingers, the butter and brightly-colored sugar crystals spreading and transferring from his hands to Dean’s skin. He rubs the crystals along Dean’s butt cheeks and down in between, scratching and teasing the skin along the way.

Dean gives what sounds like a muffled shriek. “Goddammit, Cas, you’re not playing fair here!”

Castiel’s thrusts become more erratic as he gets closer to orgasm, heat pooling low in his groin as he feels his balls begin to tighten. “In case you haven’t noticed,” he groans, his voice becoming ever lower and raspy, “we’re in a kitchen, Dean. Your semen all over the work surface would hardly be... sanitary...”

He leans down to mouth at the skin between Dean’s shoulder blades as he comes, slamming in one last time, as deep as he can go and then stilling, fingers pressing bruises upon bruises along Dean’s hips. Panting, he wraps his arms around Dean, lays his head on his back, and closes his eyes, happy to melt and relax for just a few moments.

Dean is baleful and breathless. “Um, hate to snap you out of happy fun comedown time, pal, but there’s still a cookie here left to be baked, if you know what I mean.”

Dean pushes back against Castiel, but before he’s able to make any other movements Castiel grabs his elbow and turns him around, pressing his back against the counter’s edge.

He drops to his knees, and in one quick blur of motion he takes Dean into his mouth and sucks him down completely, feeling the blunt head of Dean's cock bumping against the back of his throat.

“Holy _fuck_ , Cas! How do you even _do_ that?!” Dean’s eyes have rolled back into his head as he slumps, powerless against the onslaught of Castiel’s lips and mouth. Castiel’s cheeks cave in as he sucks as hard as he can, pulling back long enough to tongue the slit, circle the head, and dive to the base again, taking Dean in so deeply that his nose nuzzles coarse pubic hairs.

He lets Dean fuck his mouth, and after only a few weak thrusts Dean cries out, coming down Castiel’s throat. Castiel stares up at him as he drinks him down, sucking until Dean's cock softens and the too-sensitive skin causes Dean to hiss and pull away. Castiel pulls off with a wet pop and stands up then, pulling Dean’s boxers and jeans up as he does so and tucking Dean back into his pants, buttoning and zipping him away tidily.

“Holy shit, we really should do kitchen sex more often.” Dean grins as he watches Castiel zip himself up, but when he reaches for him, Castiel bats his hand away.

“Dean, I’ve done as you asked and seen to your cock. Now please do as I ask, and let me see to my cookies.”

Dean stands there for a moment with his mouth hanging open in disbelief. “...Can I at least get a cookie before I leave?”

Castiel shoves a plate of apple cinnamon cookies at him, and pushes him out of the kitchen.

 

 

 

*******************************

 

That evening, Castiel, Bobby, and the brothers sit around the fireplace, full of a delicious dinner Bobby had thrown together, and enjoying cups of egg nog with heaping plates of Castiel’s cookies on the coffee table. Every batch, aside from the one that died a fiery death due to Dean, is a complete success.

Bobby especially has taken a liking to the brightly decorated Christmas cookies. He grabs another as Dean gets up from his spot on the couch next to Castiel to stoke the fire in the fireplace a bit more.  


  
Dean is shifting uncomfortably as he stands in front of the hearth, a grimace marring his face every few minutes as he twitches.

Bobby watches, amused. “Boy, you got ants in your pants or something? Quit your fidgetin’.”

Castiel clears his throat. “No, I don’t think it’s ants—”

Dean spins around, tries to interrupt him. “Cas—”

“I stopped partway through my baking—”

“Cas!”

“—to fuck him against the counter, so I believe he may have sugar crystals caught in the crack between his butt cheeks,” Castiel finishes helpfully.

Bobby chokes on the cookie he’d just bitten into. Sam reaches over to slap him on the back while drinking down his entire mug of egg nog without stopping.

Eyes watering, Bobby coughs a few times before spitting out, “I better not find any hairs in this. Especially not curly ones.”

Dean groans as he sits down, propping his elbows on his knees and hiding his face in his hands.

Sam uses the opportunity to reach over and ruffle his brother’s hair. “Dean, you owe me twenty bucks for lying about being a bottom.”

“Fuck me.”

“Again, Dean?”

“Shut up, Cas.”

 


End file.
